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Compared to these storms, death is but a qualm,
Hell somewhat lightsome, and the Bermuda
calm.
John Donne, from The Storm
Our storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage,
A stupid calm, but nothing it, doth 'suage...
Storms chafe, and soon wear out themselves, or us;
In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus.
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